


Another Lonely Christmas

by BrightYellowBumblebee



Series: Somebody to Love [5]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, F/F, I'm sublimating because my year has SUCKED, Minor description of foster care, minor description of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28325730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightYellowBumblebee/pseuds/BrightYellowBumblebee
Summary: Five Christmases where Catra questioned the existence of magic and one where it was confirmed
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Series: Somebody to Love [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962157
Comments: 29
Kudos: 109





	Another Lonely Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> I need to vent, sorry
> 
> This is the first Christmas I've had off since 2011 and I was planning to have my family visit and what happens? I get COVID. Managed to be front line all year, working in ITU and pulling extra shifts to cover colleagues and avoided getting it all year only to get it now? Just before I see my family for the first time since February?!
> 
> There are not enough expletives in the English Language for this.
> 
> Anyway: here's some Christmas angst and fluff for y'all 
> 
> I haven't forgotten any of my other fics, nor do I plan to abandon them but, you know, life.

Childhood

\--

“Mama?” a tremulous voice warbled, barely audible over the howling of the wind. Winters in Etheria could range between horribly mild, with wet leaves and deluges of rain, to mildly horrid, with flurries of snow and biting winds. This winter, the ground was slick with ice, frozen and impossible to spot in some places under a thin layer of snow, and the sky was black as pitch, even in the mid-afternoon. 

She recalled having to make the trek from her mother’s house to her grandmother’s, grasping her mother’s hand firmly through her mittens. Her mother’s other hand was lugging a bag of primly wrapped presents, ready to celebrate Christmas with their family. 

Christmas was the only time she and her mother really interacted with her extended family; the rest of the year, they were vague concepts that existed through birthday cards and phone calls. It was only at Christmas, crammed into her grandmother’s tiny, overheated bungalow, that they became people and, by extension, family to her. 

She spent all year looking forward to Christmas, when the ground would sparkle with rimes of frost, her breath would sparkle before her very eyes and the houses would sparkle with lights. It was the time when magic happened, when everything seemed to be ok, even just for one day. 

She was dressed in her wellington boots, the snow coming up to her ankles and the ground slippery underfoot. She giggled as she slid a few inches, skating unintentionally, and the only thing that kept her upright was her mother’s grip on her hand. Smiling with unfettered glee, she loosed a squeaky laugh, heterochromic eyes wide and full of joy as she began to tell her mother that she was going to be an ice skater when she grew up. 

Her mother, patient in everything, gave her a grin in return, her blue eyes loving in her caramel skin. Her mother looked like a benevolent angel in that moment: caring, kind and oh so loving. 

Catra wanted to capture this moment forever. 

Until she learned she would never forget it. 

From around the bend, a car seemed to appear from nowhere. Its lights suddenly illuminated the magical path they were walking on, changing the very air around them into something invasive and perverse. The noise of the engine cut through their quiet conversation and the silence of winter with a rumbling roar. 

As small as she was, she knew even then that the car was moving too fast. It had made the turn too widely and seemed out of control. She could only watch in frozen horror as the wheels screeched on the icy tarmac, sending the metallic monster careening towards the pavement where they stood. She managed a small gasp of breath when she was shoved to one side, landing roughly in a snow drift.

She heard a loud scream, but wasn’t sure whether it was her mother’s or the scream of metal grinding on ground as her heartbeat echoed in her ears. Shoving her mittened hands on the floor, she pushed herself upright. Her mother would be upset that she’d gotten her mittens dirty, and what an odd thing for her to pay attention to right now, but she had to because her head was spinning wildly. 

Turning around to look for her mother, her gaze was transfixed. The car was a mangled pile of metal, burning with an evil yellow blaze and releasing an acrid smoke that lingered at the back of her throat; a poor parody of the fire that crackled in her grandmother’s fireplace. The was a vacuum of noise following the initial crash, almost peaceful in itself but it sent a shiver up her spine. 

Scattered around the inferno were the presents that her mother was carrying, some dented, some squashed and others still pristine. She traced the trail of wrapping paper back to the wreckage, her eyes stinging with soot and heat, and she saw the ruined body of her mother wrapped in the ruined body of the car. 

Her brown hair was sullied with carbon and her warm, sparkling eyes were filled with pain. She had a thin trail of blood wending down the corner of her lips as she looked at Catra. Despite her own pain, despite the cracking of her bones and the tearing of her body, her mother had smiled at her. 

Still full of love and benevolence for her daughter. 

“Mama?” her voice rang tremulously across the wind, her mind trying desperately to process the scene before her. She gazed into her mother’s eyes, so broken, so loving, and saw the exact moment she died. 

And that was when the magic of Christmas died for Catra as well. 

\--

Adolescence

\--

It wasn’t as though she was hard done to; she certainly wasn’t in the midst of some Dickensian novel, she rationalised. Her foster family were nice enough, she supposed. After her mother had died, there had been a legal bruhaha that she wasn’t privy to but apparently, no-one in her family wanted to take her in. (She would unpack that sentiment years later in therapy, but that was for later.) Since no-one in her family could accommodate her, she was put into the foster system. 

It was broken, true, but it wasn’t as though she was starved or beaten. Her family were pleasant, if a bit distant. It wasn’t their fault; she was just as distant to them. 

They didn’t try to replace her mother and she didn’t _want_ them to try.

So, on Christmas day, when she opened her presents, she was generally ambivalent. “Generally ambivalent” was a good way to describe her entire mindset recently. She was disinclined to invest interest in anything and any emotion outside of blinding fury took too much effort, so she drifted into a kind of ennui.

Her foster parents thought she was just being a moody teen. Her social worker thought she was still processing her mother’s untimely demise.

She knew that, given the opportunity, she would burn everything to the ground, including herself, if she was just provided with a match. She just hid it behind her ever-present apathy.

Her Christmas gifts comprised of socks and a new backpack for school. Nothing too expensive and nothing that showed any understanding of _her_. She neither wanted, nor needed, either but accepted them with a benign sense of duty.

They cemented her understanding of her place in her foster parent’s household: she was there because she had to be, not because she was wanted. She hadn’t been wanted anywhere in a long time and, although she knew this on some intellectual level, this brought home the understanding viscerally. 

Part of her had still held out for the magic of Christmas. That halcyon time where even her own family accepted her and her mother, even if they mainly ignored them for the rest of the year. If there was any time of year that could nurture some bond between her and her foster family, it would be now.

The fault was no-one person’s. Perhaps hers, if she had to blame someone, and she was getting very good at blaming herself. A part of her was still searching for magic, still searching for laughing blue eyes and benevolent smiles even when, logically, she knew that all magic had disappeared from the world.

It was her own fault for still looking.

\--

University

\--

Christmas time, as an adult, was very different to Christmas as a child. There was an innate awareness of the lack of magic involved, the stress, the bills, but there was the unspoken understanding that the pretence must be upheld. Everyone had to pretend they were having a great time, even through the lines of worry on their face. Everyone had to brag about the presents they’d bought, ignoring the credit card statements on the counter. 

Everyone had to listen to the same twelve songs on repeat from mid-November and say they liked them despite their lyrics gnawing on their souls.

If Catra had to hear a Christmas song one more time, she wouldn’t be held responsible for her actions. 

Her first Christmas at university was… an experience.

She’d finished up her semester, cracked her exams out of the way and, in a fit of productivity, done her holiday homework as well, so she was left with a week and a half of absolutely nothing to do. Her entire life had been reaching towards something, so the thought of her sitting fallow made her uncomfortable. 

Most of her dormmates had gone home for the holidays, waxing on about their family plans and looking aghast at her when she said she wasn’t leaving. Oh no, she’d spent years dreaming about getting out of her foster parent’s home, she wasn’t returning now. 

So, her floor was practically barren, with just her and a few international students remaining. The dining hall had also closed for the holidays, leaving her with limited catering options. She could order something, but she didn’t have the money for that, or she could try and cook something in their small, communal cooking space, but she didn’t have any ingredients to hand. 

Basically, she was screwed. 

She was chewing on the end of shoelace in her medical school hoodie as she browsed the open takeaways on her laptop with desire when she heard a knock at her door. Creaking it open, she was met with the green eyes of Rogelio, one of the international students, peering back at her. She wasn’t quite sure where Rogelio was from, being unable to place his accent entirely, and now, four months into the year, she’d missed her chance to ask him.

“Hello,” he said, voice a rumbling bass. 

“Err, hi?” she said, eyes flicking between his tall, imposing frame and the baseball bat she had propped up behind her door. (Sometimes, she went out into the woods behind campus and wailed on a fallen tree. Sue her.) “Can I help you?”

She _really_ wasn’t in the mood right now. She had a good angst going and she was keen to stay locked in her room, brooding until the new year. 

But her, frankly awesome, plans were quickly derailed by what he said. Apparently, all the international students and others who weren’t going home were meeting up in the hall for a big pot luck Christmas dinner and would she like to join?

Huh.

Even when she tried to tell him she didn’t have any food to offer, Rogelio waved her off with a dismissive hand, reassuring her that she didn’t have to bring anything, she was still welcome. Christmas was a time to get together, he said, to eat with people and enjoy the company of others. 

A strange feeling blossomed in her chest, something that she recalled from many years ago. Some of the magic had revived; someone _wanted_ her for Christmas.

Shuffling into the hall, shadowed by Rogelio’s tall frame, she ended up having a Christmas dinner made of the most eclectic dishes ever. A plate of cheese on toast was nestled next to some slightly stale crackers and a selection box. The drinks corner was filled with half empty bottles from the semester prior. 

Before the night was over, the bottles had all been polished off, the crackers eaten and she’d beaten Tung Lashor, Rogelio’s cousin, in an arm-wrestling contest. Wearing his leather jacket in victory, she’d smiled freely, truly enjoying this strange Christmas.

Perhaps the magic of Christmas wasn’t gone, but just changed into a different kind of magic. Changed from laughing blue eyes to tall, warm frames and from laughter to arm wrestles. 

\--

Foundation Years

\--

She’d vowed that she would be rota master when she reached the level of registrar. The level of power they wielded was immense and respected across the board. The opportunity to choose what shifts to work, who to allocate to the grumpy consultant and who would work Christmas. 

Yeah, she wanted that.

She’d qualified last year and, in her two years of working for the health service, she’d worked both Christmases. It wasn’t the end of the world, she tried to tell herself. Christmas wasn’t even that big of a deal these days.

But, now Adora was in her life, Christmas was something magical again. She was no longer searching for blue eyes in winter, she had them in her bed. The downside was that she couldn’t enjoy it. 

Adora seemed a little put out, pouting into her cereal as she silently grumped across from her. She’d dragged herself from her warm bed that morning, met with Adora sitting at the kitchen table in a Santa hat and apron. 

And an adorable frown.

“It’s only twelve hours,” she’d said, trying to reassure her moping girlfriend, who sighed into her coffee deeply.

“I know. And I know you have to go, doctors have to work, even on Christmas. But I’ll miss you!” 

Chuckling into the crown of her head as she leaned down to kiss the blonde hairs, Catra repeated the sentiment back and slogged into work.

The day dragged more than usual, given what she knew was waiting for her at home. The sheer number of people in hospital concerned her; how many people couldn’t chew their food properly? Why did so many people decide it would be a good time to set off fireworks without reading the instructions and after four beers? 

Sometimes, the human race astounded Catra. 

Catra’s measly lunch couldn’t even be supplemented by the canteen today, as it was closed. So, she was stuck eating Adora’s offering, which, although filled with love and effort, were not filled with flavour.

By the end of her shift, her feet hurt and she was tired and hungry and wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Even the promise of a day off tomorrow couldn’t renew her energy. She brushed into their darkened house, all the lights off barring the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. In the white glow, she could see the shadowed outline of Adora on the couch, head nestled on a cushion with a small pool of drool marring the cover. 

She smiled indulgently (and a little exasperatedly. She’s the one who’d worked a long shift, why was Adora knocked out?!) and shook Adora’s shoulder. Her blurry blue eyes opened and Catra’s couldn’t help but remember other blue eyes on Christmas. 

“What time is it?” she murmured, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

“Late. About nine-ish,” Catra replied and was taken aback when Adora leaped off the couch in a rush. 

“Oh no! The food!” she rushed to the kitchen, slapping the lights on and pulling open the oven.

And their quiet night was interrupted, as if on cue, by the smoke alarm. It turned out that Adora had tried to time Christmas dinner being done for when Catra finished work but fell asleep with the oven on, so the turkey was now a charred briquette surrounded by overcooked vegetables. 

Adora, in all her sheepish glory, looked at the food on platters, looking inedible, even by her standards, and offered to pick up a takeaway.

Catra fell in love with her all over again, and wondered if her Christmas magic had returned with Adora’s blue eyes.

\--

Registrar Years

\--

Why did it have to happen now?! She’d been so careful. Years of planning for this exact moment were ruined.

Through the years, she’d climbed the ladder in work, rising the ranks in her training until she’d chosen her specialty and been awarded the coveted position of rota co-ordinator. She’d gained that pinnacle, the zenith of medical management and she could finally, _finally_ organise her life more that six weeks in advance. 

She’d worked the previous seven Christmases, all leading up to this year. Now she was the co-ordinator, she could book herself off for Christmas. There were no complaints of nepotism, given that she’d worked the last seven ones, and the look of glee on Adora’s face when she’d been able to tell her months in advance that they could do a proper Christmas. 

Her wife had looked delighted, spiralling higher with each passing day. Adora, Catra had realised, was one of those “happy Christmas” people: someone who was perpetually in a good mood for the entire month of December, and the rigmarole of Christmas seemed to leave her elated. 

She loved decorating, smiled through untangling the string of lights and carolling all the time, much to Catra’s aural dismay. As much as she loved her, Adora couldn’t really hold a tune. 

So, when Christmas Eve hit and she had a little tickle in her throat, she brushed it off. She was probably tired and thirsty from work. She never got sick and it would be super unfair for her to get sick now, on the first Christmas she had off in over seven years. 

Of course, the universe hated her and she woke on Christmas morning with a burning fever, shivering limbs and lungs that were, decidedly, not working properly. Adora had tried to manage, being an effective nurse and it was something that Catra would explore later, when she felt better, but Catra’s immune system had decided to take a hike. 

In the end, Adora had to ring for help.

Her first Christmas off in years, away from work, and Catra ended up spending it in A&E as a patient. She had to endure Scorpia’s kind, sorrow filled eyes and Glimmer’s scary efficiency as she was given oxygen and nebulisers and anti-inflammatories. Adora was sitting beside her the entire time, rationalising that if Catra had an infection then so did she and she wasn’t leaving. 

Catra would appreciate this later, but right now, she was on fire. She was burning, fever ripping through her cells and leaving her scorched in its wake. 

She was on fire, at Christmas and, for a microsecond, she was back in the wintery vista of her childhood, staring at the roaring fire of a car as it burned through her mother. Except, she wasn’t watching it this time, she was in the midst of the flames, roasting alive.

Her heart monitor audibly skipped a beat and pulled her from her fever induced delusion. She stared to her side, looking at Adora’s cool hand gripped in hers and she briefly wondered where her mittens had gone. Adora’s concerned blue eyes looked into hers, washing her with cooling blue and calming her very soul. 

She might have the fire back, but this year her Christmas magic was Adora’s blue, blue eyes. 

\--

This year

\--

Catra could safely say that she wasn’t looking forward to Christmas this year. She’d been slated to work it again and, after last year’s fiasco, she was all but willing to stay in work if it meant she would be a doctor and not a patient again. There was something about being on the other side of the fence that unnerved her. Probably the loss of control, but that may be her therapist speaking. 

Anyway, she was on the rota to work days this year and she wasn’t _too_ upset about it. Given the global situation going on, they wouldn’t have been able to socialise anyway so, even though the rest of her friends were off, she didn’t mind too much. It’s not like they would have been able to meet up or anything. 

Adora had thrown a pout when she’d found out, her pink lips frowning and eyes furrowing but said nothing. She had been a little furtive in the following days though, texting someone furiously and at all hours. 

If Catra didn’t know any better, she’d think Adora was having an affair but the papers would know that before she did and would let her know via the front page. 

On Christmas Eve eve, Adora’s frown had blossomed into a huge smile, barely contained by her cheeks and she let out a little squeal of happiness. 

“What’s gotten you so excited, princess?” she asked, only to be met with an airy “it’s a surprise” from the blonde. She just shrugged and went back to her journal. 

In work the following day, she was approached by Huntara, one of her fellow registrars, who staunchly informed her that she would be taking the Christmas day on call, thank you very much, and she could just stay home. She’d blue screened a little and stammered something, but she’d walked away before she could articulate anything meaningful, jabbing at something on her phone.

What?

What just happened? No-one volunteered to work the Christmas shift. It was a right of passage, a duty to be performed, a task to be endured. Odd shifts were nothing new and there was always some activity that was missed because of Catra’s work schedule but there was something about being away from family and friends on Christmas that cut a little deeper than usual.

After her shift finished, she’d gone home and was met at the door by a delighted Adora, who embraced her on the threshold. 

“Did she do it?” she queried, blue eyes bright and inquiring. Catra was momentarily confused, until Adora revealed her grand plan. She’d managed to get hold of Huntara’s phone number through Glimmer, as Mess president. After much cajoling, bartering and bribing, Huntara had agreed to take Catra’s Christmas shift.

And it was thanks to Adora. 

For the first time in years, Catra woke on Christmas day without an alarm clock blaring in her ear, nestled in a warm bed, next to her even warmer wife. They’d shared small gifts with each other, both of them prone to random, spontaneous gifts during the year instead. With a strict spending limit for Adora, their Christmas gifts were small and thoughtful and they spent a lazy morning, curled on their sofa watching Christmas films and drinking their wine. 

Catra was a little confused because there was no food cooking and she hadn’t been asked to cook because Adora’s mediocre culinary skills still didn’t extend to a Christmas spread, but Adora told her not to worry and pulled her deeper into their blanket. By that point, she was too warm and a little too drunk to care. 

When the doorbell rang and Adora answered it, she was jerked from her reverie. Looking to the door, she noticed Adora carrying bags in to the dining room, where Catra had been barred all day. Within ten minutes, she was back in the lounge, standing before the sofa and holding her hands out to Catra. 

Without hesitation, Catra took the blonde’s hand and followed her to the dining room. As soon as the door opened, she gasped in amazement.

The dining room was covered with strings of lights, twinkling dimly and casting the room in a dim, romantic glow. The dining table was covered with an immaculate Christmas meal, covering only half the wood. 

The other half had Adora’s laptop, Catra’s laptop and two tablets, screens all set up facing them. The same meal was displayed on all the screens but, behind it, were all the people Catra would _want_ to spend Christmas with. 

On one screen, Glimmer and Bow crowded the screen, donned in ugly Christmas jumpers, and a pair of reindeer antlers on Bow’s head. Glimmer’s hair was covered in sparkly glitter and both were wearing massive grins. Glimmer wiggled her eyebrows at Catra, whose cheeks blushed in frustration, embarrassment and platonic love. 

Scorpia’s eye was filling one of the other screens as she adjusted her camera and, when she stepped back, Perfuma came into view. Both were dressed in blouses and jeans and their table was covered in a vegetarian variation of the meal. They waved excitedly, Scorpia’s eyes bright and suspiciously watery. 

Mermista was sitting next to Sea Hawk, her salwar kameez beautifully embroidered and Sea Hawk looking dapper in his shirt and trousers. Catra knew that they had video called Mermista’s parents today, hence the smart clothes, but nothing could change Mermista out of her dark lipstick and Sea Hawk from his moustache wax. They both smiled broadly, the ring on Mermista’s finger glinting in the lights. 

Entrapta was, perhaps, the most surprising of all. Catra knew her norm outside of work was a pair of stained overalls because, when she wasn’t in work, she was in her garage, tinkering. But she was sitting at her table dressed in top with a Christmas pattern and trousers, her tabby cat, Emily, curled up on her lap. 

“So,” Adora started and Catra’s eyes flicked over to her, “I know it might not be the Christmas we all want because we can’t spend time together but this way, we can still share a meal together.”

“Adora arranged for a delivery of the same meal to us all at the same time,” Bow explained as Perfuma chimed in about her vegetarian version. 

“I really wanted to see you all today so this makes me so happy!” Scorpia wailed into her napkin.

“Agreed. I enjoy spending time with you all as well, even with the distance,” Entrapta said, seeming more involved with the conversation than she usually did. Catra couldn’t help but snort when she saw the stray packet of digestives on Entrapta’s table, hiding between the immaculately roasted potatoes and stuffing balls. It was so Entrapta to have a five-star spread before her but prioritise digestives. 

Catra could honestly say she loved these idiots.

And she loved the idiot who arranged it. 

She _knew_ winter blue eyes were magic.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> BYB x


End file.
